Revelry
by PythonFan
Summary: Perfectionist Joanne gets her first traffic ticket. Mark and Collins break out the alcohol.


Joanne stormed into her apartment, face flushed. "Ten years of a perfect driving record, down the fucking drain." she fumed. Collins and Mark followed close behind, exchanging wary glances, hesitant to get too close.

"I mean, I'm a lawyer. I contest the damn things all the time. Not to mention the three years I spent at law school. I'm not, you know, _completely_ ignorant of New York traffic laws. And any five-year-old knows what a red octagon means. Rolling stop, my ass." She glared first at the small rectangle of paper in her hand, then up at her friends, who still maintained a healthy distance. "Oh, relax," she muttered grumpily, rolling her eyes. "Your balls can come out of hiding now." Looking down at the ticket again, she sighed in frustration. "I can't even _look _at it." she lamented, flipping it over and tossing it on the counter.

Collins attempted to placate her. "S'alright, baby. Like you said, you do this for a living. You can get it cleared up."

Joanne wrinkled her nose. "I'm already swamped by enough paperwork," she replied. "I've got a little money saved up, which should cover it. I'll just pay the damn thing and get it over with." She snorted cynically. "A nice lunch uptown and a traffic ticket. There goes my new stereo."

"That's the spirit." Mark said cheekily. "C'mon, let's forget about it. How 'bout an afternoon drink? I'll buy."

Joanne considered the offer. After a moment, she smiled in acquiescence. Collins slung a friendly arm around her shoulders as the trio exited the apartment.

Several hours (and for Joanne, several rounds) later, they returned. Once again, Collins had his arms around Joanne, but this time, it was more for physical—rather than emotional—support.

Maureen was sitting at the counter, perusing a magazine. She glanced up at the sound of the racket. "Hey, boys. Hey, pookie."

Joanne fought off Collins and staggered over to her girlfriend. "Hey, baby," she giggled, wrapping her arms around Maureen's neck and scattering loud, smacking kisses over her head and face. From amidst the onslaught, the drama queen caught the gaze of the two men. The look on her face plainly asked what the hell was going on.

"She got a traffic ticket." Mark said by way of explanation.

Maureen's mouth formed a tiny 'o' and she nodded slowly in understanding. She smiled obligingly at Joanne. "Hey, sweetie," she cooed, covering Joanne's roaming hands with her own, "why don't you go get some rest, okay? And if you're feeling better later tonight, I started a list. Maybe we can go pick up some, uh," she glanced at the other two occupants of the room, "some stuff for Tuesday…?" she grinned conspiratorially at her girlfriend.

"What's Tuesday?" Mark inquired politely.

Joanne whirled around to face him. "Our, um…uh." Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Oh, I dunno. Some month's anniversary." She waved her hand vaguely. "We're gonna have sex."

"You had to ask." Collins muttered under his breath. Mark smiled wryly before wandering over to the refrigerator. Joanne had, by this time, turned her attention back to Maureen, whose face was a mixture of amusement and embarrassment by her girlfriend's uncharacteristic affections.

"Uh…Maureen?" Mark's hesitant voice piped up from behind them.

"Yeah?"

"When you were, uh, making your…shopping list…for Tuesday, did you by any chance notice what you were writing on?"

Maureen grimaced in confusion, trying to fend off Joanne's advances as she shifted in her seat.

"What are you goin' on about?"

"I think…I mean, I think you…"

Joanne, her attention captured, tottered the short distance to the filmmaker and swiped the list from his hands. She squinted at it for several seconds, cocking her head to one side before flipping it over. She blinked.

"It's my ticket." She stared at scrap of paper blankly for several seconds, her face emotionless. "You wrote the shopping list for the sex store on the back of my traffic ticket."

The room fell silent, only to be broken moments later by a fit of intoxicated giggling from Joanne. She wandered over to the bureau, fumbling around in the drawers.

"What're you doing, baby?" Maureen inquired.

Joanne blinked at her. "Lookin' for an envelope…gotta pay the damn thing and send it in."

Collins swallowed. "You're gonna send it in like that?" he asked tentatively.

Joanne wrinkled her nose at him. "Why the hell not?" she groused. "It'll show 'em I've got better things to buy with my money."

"I'm sure the New York City Court system will be thrilled to hear it." Mark added helpfully, biting his lip in a valiant attempt to stave off laughter.

"Damn fucking straight." An errant hiccup escaped Joanne's lips as she continued her search.

Half an hour later, with the traffic-ticket-cum-sex-list (a phrase that, for semantic reasons, Collins found hysterical) safely in the mail, and Joanne safely in bed, the two men set out for the loft.

"You know she's gonna freak out once she sobers up." Mark observed pointedly.

Collins laughed. "That's true, _mi compadre_, very true. But Maureen's gonna be the only one there when that happens." He flashed a toothy grin. "She got shitfaced on our dime. Let the drama queen deal with the hangover."


End file.
